


Feel Like A Monster

by Buckye



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Mirror Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood, Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, M/M, Psychological Torture, Serial Killers, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:39:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckye/pseuds/Buckye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard just leaned a bit closer until his mouth was near the pulsating vein in Jim’s neck and he stopped there, lingered and waited. Jim couldn’t see what he was doing here, so he made a show of drawing in a breath and sighing dreamily “You smell so nice, Jim.”<br/>Jim suppressed a shudder “So you do care about my name, huh, Leonard?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel Like A Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kasia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasia/gifts).



> The fic goes along with [this fanmix](http://myrddiin.tumblr.com/post/56158167345/download-listen), is only beta'd by myself, so please correct me!  
> This fic contains scientific terms thats hould be understandable in the context, if not, leave a message!
> 
> Warning: torture, abuse (mental&physical), dub-con, sexual content

Jim has had enough headaches to be able to tell that this particular specimen was not born from a hangover. It came from an excellently exercised hit to the back of his head, knocking him out quite efficiently. Due to the fact of being bound to a chair, it was quite obvious that he wasn’t able to treat his headache with any kind of painkillers.  


He moved his bound hands against their captivator, his right producing a hollow metal noise that resounded in his head. The noise recalled memories of him doing illicit work, plumbing a friend’s kitchen sink and almost getting his hand stuck in the food chopper. His hands had been separated and he felt a burning sensation on his left wrist as he tried to move it against the wooden material that held it in place. The same burn sliced into his hand as he tried to straighten his extremity, the palm being bound to a cool metal that had already started heating up under his touch. His toes were tingling in the unpleasant way only cold concrete was able to. He had been ridden of his battered boots and hole-pierced socks, making it impossible for him to loosen the wires around his ankles.  
Jim’s eyes scanned the room as the fog between his eyebrows began to diffuse, looking for anything that might tell him where he was. But concrete walls and floor with flickering neon lights above that didn’t radiate much light and dripping pipes? Wasn’t much to go by.  


As he was tied in the middle of the wall, he at least had a pretty good overview of the whole room, even though the door to his left was only brought to his attention when it resounded as it shut. The man that had stepped out of it was not much more than a silhouette, the lights being in the middle of the room and of the like.  
Yet the shadow was big enough to make him flinch slightly back as he came closer. The silhouette grew bigger and the light reflected at the sides of the man’s efficient haircut made it obvious that his abductor wasn’t exactly on the skinny side. Below the person’s waist was a black box that blocked Jim’s view on the rest of the body, making it almost impossible for him to guess how fast he was approaching.  
“Morning sunshine, I hope you had a good night’s rest!”  
spoke the shadow, enabling Jim to tell that he wore a slight scruff, a fact that only added up to the tingling sensation in Jim’s right wrist as his imagination provided him with pictures of broken noses and blood clots stuck in facial hair.

“Probably pulled a muscle in my neck or something, I don’t like sleeping upright.” Was what he shot back. Two men could play this game.  
This earned him a low chuckle as the silhouette stopped in his closer vicinity and he forced himself not to get irritated.  
“You got a big mouth there boy, I did well not shutting it. You’re going to be fun.”  
“My name is Jim Kirk and you will regret this.” Was the answer he spit out through gritted teeth before his still slightly fogged brain could prevent it.  


“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, dear, I don’t care what your name is because the only name in this room will be mine”  
The odd light painted the left side of his face in a sick tone as he leaned in closer, with the spark of cruel joy in the eyes Jim had seen so many times before, accompanied by the bared teeth that produced an air of primal instinct that made Jim’s neck start to tingle. Yet the wet snapping sound around the figure’s middle forced Jim to change his focus, the sound bringing up unpleasant memories from the sterile surrounding of an emergency room, a place Jim had occupied many times. A glint caught his eyes as the freshly gloved hand got hold on a sharp metal device in an expertly way without hesitation or even looking down once, as if being a default motion programmed into his brain over and over a long time ago.  
The other finished his sentence “as you scream it on top of your lungs whilst my scalpel peels the flesh off your bones.”  


Jim’s brain supplied him with attacks and counterattacks to punches, kicks and bites. He felt the phantom sensation of a warm liquid run down his hand with which he had once fought off a knife and a quick pierce where he had broken his ribs more than once.  
He had fought in countless bars on countless streets, but he had never had to fight something that he only felt when it was too late.  
Jim had spent all of his life avoiding a weakness, by not tearing up when his mom had left again or by ducking just the right way for an attacker to knock himself out, James Tiberius Kirk was many things, but never defenseless.  
Yet he still had his voice and if he could fight by not using it, this would be his strategy.  


The sound of ripping fabric filled Jim’s ears and then there was suddenly a burning sensation in his left bicep, somewhere deep inside. His body jerked forward, away from the feeling but that only increased the pain. The punctual sensation widened to a whole net of pricks and lines and Jim felt like his arm was covered in a whole hive of leaf-cutting ants.  
The pain also sliced through the fog in Jim’s brain, it being the only thing the doctor peeled off, as for his promise – Jim hadn’t felt a big chunk being barked off. Yet he wouldn’t dare to promise it, the pain reached layers at a deepness Jim had hope for that it would never happen. He had bones pierce out from the inside, knives pierce inside with their handle still in sight.  


Right now the sensation was everywhere, his arm wasn’t an entity, it was a hive that thirsted for nectar and goddamn it was angry.  
Jim felt a sting in his nose that could only come from cold sweat and dried blood, yet in comparison it was barely anything above an unpleasant irregularity. His hand was stiff and when he tried to move his fingers it took them a while to respond, stripped off their blood supplies and having to send their signals around the pain the doctor created, it was a wonder they even reacted at all. Jim’s chest began to heave with a hysterical laughter bubbling upwards as he managed to crook his index. He felt a wetness stain his cheek that hadn’t been there before and he refused to bother finding out what kind of salty body liquid it was.

It slowly crept into his awareness that the hive had begun to buzz quieter and forced himself to blink through the oily film that had begun to settle on his retinas. His eyes didn’t care that all they would see was a stilled silhouette, so Jim followed suit.  
“Oh excuse my manners; I forgot to actually tell you my name after informing you of your situation. It’s Doctor Leonard McCoy, and I am incapable of keeping working in this terribly lit room. Be a dear and wait until I’ve found a nice working lamp, will you?”  


Jim refocused on the self-proclaimed doctor and forced a grimace on his face that could be a smirk or a snarl, he wouldn’t have been able to tell himself.  
The doctor dropped the scalpel in a flat bowl filled with some liquid that dripped over the rim – antiseptic, Jim presumed – and left the room whistling a tune that could have been an 80’s classic or no tune at all.  


xXx  


The doctor took his sweet time before he came back with a lamp that he clipped to the pipe above Jim’s head - the same that kept his chair in place - and plugging it in somewhere nearby. He then proceeded to get a small stool to sit on “My bones are growing weary, I’m no young bird like you are.” His voice was apologetically as he sat down.  


He reached behind himself to pull his cart closer and stood up, leaning over Jim, who entertained the thought of piercing the soft flesh with his teeth, maybe to rip a chunk out, if the doctor hadn’t taken the caution of being just out of reach. Still Jim’s jaw twitched with the desire to dig itself into the doctor’s side. The lights flicked on and Jim’s vision was flooded with a piercing white for a split second before he caught a glance of skin behind the cotton white apron and between the hem of a ragged black shirt and the run down hem of an old pair of blue jeans, a weak spot that made him grind his teeth.  
The doctor tutted him as he sat down, running his hand over his apron to smooth it whilst Jim’s eyes were fixed to the collar of the open Henley’s his abductor was wearing underneath his shield of white. He took the moment of stagnation to get a good look of the man’s face. If (when) he was going to make it out alive of this, he needed to report appropriately.  


While trying to look more angry than neutral his gaze wondered over the surprisingly soft features of his abductor, the plush lips still pursed from the rebuke he had given Jim mere seconds ago and following the round nose to his eyebrows, of which one was raised in expectation more than annoyance, Jim would have sworn they were plucked perfectly. But his gaze lingered a little bit longer on the eyes than on the other features, because Jim was no pessimist and he would find the good in any man, no matter the odds of finding any in the man that put them in this situation. They could be warm and loving, but the brown was hard and cold when his thought hadn’t even ended yet and he knew that his time of going easy was over.  


Before he could fix his view straight ahead in a desperate attempt to stay focused the doctor had dropped a carefully gloved right hand on his thigh, far above the knee, yet shy of Jim’s comfort zone, he whispered in a low voice – as if asking Jim to keep it secret – “Like what you see?”  
And then he released Jim’s leg, got a big needle with a handle as if he had all time in the world and slowly started to penetrate his left ring finger whilst calmly supplying Jim with facts about this particular extremity.  


When the doctor had reached the index he had been so proud of crooking earlier on, he wished the doctor would have disabled all the nerves in his arm so the scream bubbling up inside his throat would lose all its justification of existing. But when the doctor had proudly shoved his fingernail into Jim’s face, the scream had already erupted and ridden him of his eyesight, which, in retrospect, was probably a small mercy.  


The doctor smiled solemn at the sound, took it as a humbling compliment on his work and continued.  
When he released Jim’s hand it had a startling resemblance of a golf course, lots of dents and tricky ponds but most importantly: carefully placed holes in the whole area.  


xXx  


Jim knew that his hand was bound around the pipe behind his back, but metal would dent and he was a patient man capable of enduring many things.  
His feet were tied, each ankle separately, against the chair’s legs. The chair was of cold metal where it was necessary and warm wood where it was tolerable.  
The armrests for example, had fronts of tight metal that seared into the sitting area and down the legs where his feet were bound, but behind the tips it was of a warm and light wood, even though the original colour wasn’t discernible anymore, as it was drenched in Jim’s blood.  


His freely flowing body fluid had warmed up the metal even more, and even though there hadn’t been much, despite everything Jim had expected, the few drops and splashes that the doctor had extracted had hurt more than whole pools he had lost through his nose so many times before that he had lost count.  
The bleedings had stopped soon and after the pierced spots had been carefully cleaned, each stinging like being pierced anew. When the doctor had brought his medical attention to Jim’s fingertips again, he had passed out for a few seconds the doctor had put to good use. He had tied it behind his back, his left arm, the one with the damaged hand.  


His right hand was unblemished, but Jim didn’t draw any joy from it. It was just another spot not yet explored by his abductor, torturer, expert.  


The doctor had then proceeded to take off the armrests from this Frankenstein’s chair and waited for Jim’s system to clear itself off the momentary nausea.  
Jim tried to fake inebriation for a little while longer, but the doctor would not be fooled.  
“Don’t play games with me, dear, I know that your brain was back to normal…” he mocked a thinking position for one or two seconds “10 minutes ago, let’s say.”  


“Yeah, smartypants, how nice of you to give me a break.” Jim raised his chin in a rather arrogant fashion against the doctor, but latter didn’t take it as offense. He simply pushed the stool a bit away and slowly slung a leg over Jim’s bound middle – another thing that had been tied to a certain pipe – and settled down comfortably.  
Jim’s brow furrowed and his mouth was faster than his brain, again “What the fuck, man?”  


He tried to shake him off but didn’t manage more than a slight motion of his knees that didn’t disturb the doctor at all. He just leaned a bit closer until his mouth was near the pulsating vein in Jim’s neck and he stopped there, lingered and waited. Jim couldn’t see what he was doing here, so he made a show of drawing in a breath and sighing dreamily “You smell so nice, Jim.”  
Jim suppressed a shudder “So you do care about my name, huh, _Leonard?_ ”  


The doctor let out a chuckle and this time Jim could feel it, feel his body being shaken by the one above him and the breath against his neck and he felt the doctor’s chest vibrating against the right side of his torso. The motion moved the doctor’s hips against his and he gritted his teeth, willing a sensation away that was entirely inappropriate, yet he didn’t succeed completely.  


“Just to remind you one last time before oblivion swallows it, swallows everything that makes you… you.” After finishing his sentence in the same breathing space as Jim, who was too focused to move his head to the other side, he leaned over to his cart and slowly retracted his scalpel.  
What stayed was the lingering smell of a decent aftershave and a hotness that had moistened Jim’s chapped lips, clinging to it like the doctor clung unto him now.  


“I promised you some bones, didn’t I?” he raised an eyebrow questioningly, not waiting for an answer “Well dear, the past few hours have only been foreplay to the actual fun, so lean back, enjoy your stay and please don’t faint at the sight of a bit more blood.”  


This time when he leaned closer into Jim’s headspace, latter took the opportunity to spit into it, only missing the eye by chance. The doctor blinked angrily and wiped it off, with his left, ungloved hand. He stared at the remains of Jim’s saliva on his fingers and a muscle above his lip started to twitch “Darling boy, you will not try that again or I’ll have to find means to prevent you from doing so, and if it’s to ram a needle in your brain where your jugular muscles are controlled so you’ll be a slurring living corpse, unable to communicate for the rest of your life, I don’t think you want that.” He reached to his right again, to retreat a device that was oval shaped with screws on the sides and holes that looked dangerously like pins were supposed to go through there and he dangled it in front of Jim’s face, waiting for Jim to show any reaction.  


Jim just shifted his gaze from the apparatus right into the doctor’s eyes “thought so, kiddo.”  
The device was put back unto its carrier.  


The scalpel was exchanged for another one of his pins and Jim’s brain supplied him with funny acupuncture jokes that he did not appreciate at the moment.  
He pointed it where the processus mastoideus formed into the bottom part of the earshell and pricked, slightly.  


The doctor had an extreme precision instrument where he was equally endangering Kirk’s brain and blood vessel system, he was very pleased with himself as Kirk slowly started to smell more and more of fear. For his next move he placed his hand on Jim’s chin, pressing his left thumb into the side to turn Jim’s head by force. His fingers had good grip on the slight stubble and none of Jim’s movements would loosen his grip. This was good. But the first real spark of satisfaction occurred as he pushed his needle beyond the spot where the collarbone and the maximus sternocleido-mastoedius met, a scream of fear, not pain and Jim Kirk was momentarily overwhelmed with the odd sensation of shame as he noticed that the doctor’s bare arms were covered in goosebumps and he felt something press against his pelvis.  


With his head as far away as possible he hissed a “pervert”, but the doctor was too caught up in this fleeting sensation of bliss, that he either decidedly ignored it or didn’t notice.  
The doctor slowly retracted the needle, dropped it in the bowl and stood up. “Now that was fun, wasn’t it? I see you’re warming up to the way things happen down here.”  
He proceeded to disinfect the wounds he had caused himself and even through the turmoil of Jim’s emotions and the slight nausea that had begun to overwhelm him some time ago – probably due to the fact that the blood vessels that fed his brain had been maimed - Jim was able to notice that one important piece of information.  
So they were below the ground.  


xXx  


And the doctor’s concentration was able to be broken.  
The doctor had made himself quite comfortable in Jim’s lap and coordinated his future motions from that spot, marveling in the way Jim radiated the feeling of being uncomfortable and him being the one causing it.

After having pinned more than a dozen needles in Jim’s neck, causing several muscle convulsions in his victim’s face and taking pleasure in knowing how the discomfort of him not being able to control his body affected Kirk in an effective negative way, he moved on to some less subtle methods.  
He chose the forceps next, holding them ready in his right hand and placing his left tenderly on Jim’s damaged shoulder, where it met with his neck. Jim winced from the hand away, it being cold as ice and oddly soothing as it didn’t press down hard on any of the damaged spots. It just lay there, like a beast on the prowl.  
It also covered the bloodstained parts of Jim’s slightly torn, no longer white V-neck.  


“Your mouth has been rather offending during the procedure and I can’t tolerate that any more. So be a dear and open it for me, I think your wisdom teeth need some treating.” He had carefully pronounced his words without any hint of amusement and Jim dreaded this particular spot to be damaged. It was the gateway to his guts after all and only god knew what this lunatic would injure after that. If he’d be in the mood for a bet, he’d go for his innards.  


“Tragically, I am no trained dentist so this might be a bit messier than what you’ve gotten used to this past time, I deeply apologize for the inconvenience.”  
Jim set his jaw shut and tried to shake his shoulders, to get the offender off, but the movement was stopped easily by a slight press of fingers from the doctor’s left hand that still lay in place. So Jim sat still and glowered at the doctor instead. “Sing little bird, open your mouth for me.”  
Jim didn’t shake his head, he just kept staring with his jugular muscles set, determined not to work into the doctor’s hands.  


After he had waited some time, the doctor rolled his eyes, put the pair of medical pincers aside and placed a gloved thumb on Jim’s lower lip, pressing his thumb’s inner knuckle against his victim’s chin, just as Jim had planned.  


He knew that the muscular force of his jaw was equal to the doctor’s hand, and that it was only a matter of who had the longer breath in this. Jim was determined to use this to his advantage. The doctor started to press and to clench his teeth as well, pressing more as time ticked by, even if it couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds. The doctor knew that the pain caused on Jim’s chin was greater than the one he felt in his thumb, except just after having this thought he was proved wrong in a way he would not forget any time soon.  


Jim had let his jaw snap open and the doctor, not expecting it this soon, lost grip on his chin and Jim’s head snapped forward and bit down, hard. His teeth had pierced through the glove as if it was butter and his mouth and teeth were now covered in someone else’s blood for a change.  
The doctor yelled a curse as he clenched his left hand around Jim’s shoulder and drew his thumb to his mouth, in a childish notion of numbing the pain he started to suck at it. His gaze was wild and he had lost all countenance he had possessed beforehand.  


He had quickly grown aware of his own actions, withdrew his thumb and struck Jim across the cheek with all the force his tiny space of action would allow him. Jim’s body had curled in direction of his hurt shoulder so his head was pointed that way, all the way. His head hadn’t got any puffer space to the back and so the blow hit with full force, equalizing the lesser radius of swing the doctor was able to use.  


Jim spit out blood, the doctor’s and his own, mixed and soiling Jim’s lifeblood and granting the doctor access to yet another level of James T. Kirk, staining the doctor’s apron along with his shirt and a great part of his bare upper arm. He wheezed out a breath and his eyes shot wide open after being shut tight in a notion to get his head clear again.  


“You’re such a child, spitting like a baby that doesn’t like his food.” The doctor snarled throughout his teeth “Well, let’s say two-year-old, as you can bite quite well.”  
The doctor released Jim’s shoulder to pull his glove off, wiped his thumb on his apron in such a slow way that it was obviously forced, before snapping his hurt hand onto Jim’s neck, bumping his head against the pipe behind it and getting so close into Jim’s face, that he was able to smell the blood on Jim’s lips. Latter didn’t shut his eyes in defiance and stared right back into the face that was heavily shadowed from the lamp above, not backing down, not now. The doctor had a grip on his caput mandibulae, and as his head was pressed against the metal, blocking Jim’s jaw completely. He couldn’t open his mouth if he tried to.  


The doctor’s gaze started to flicker between Jim’s eyes and his lips and just as realization started to dawn upon Jim’s face, the doctor had kissed blood from the corner of his mouth, without breaking eye contact once. Just as he backed off a bit again the doctor made a show out of licking his lips, dragging his teeth over it and closing his eyes as he did so, as if Jim’s blood was the sweetest bit of candy he’s ever had.  
The pressure against Jim’s pelvis returned but he was startled and pinned and for the first time since all of this began, he truly feared that Leonard might break him.  


xXx  


The doctor had gotten off and carefully taken care of his thumb, disposed of the glove and the apron “I guess we’re beyond the professional level now, aren’t we, darling?” and now reached for a little book that lay on the second level of the cart. He took a pen along with it and carefully started to write something into it, taking notes, Jim presumed. Probably a short report about the first part of his “treatment”. Jim was utterly repelled.  


xXx  


The pain in Jim’s left arm had resolved into a dull thumping and the wounds in his right shoulder part only stung when he focused on them or moved, besides breathing. This allowed Jim to roughly calculate the time he had spent down here, at least between the first maiming and now. He was dazzled by the thought of the piercing pain in his fingertips having resolved into this lousy shadow of its former self.  


Jim’s stomach started to rumble and he noticed how hungry he was, how much more thirsty. Now that his body got a breather, it demanded to be sustained. When the doctor heard it, he put the book carefully aside, retreated through the door and returned with a plastic cup of water. He then continued to sit down again, threw one leg over the other and drank the cup down to the last drop, as nonchalantly as possible. If Jim’s thirst had been obvious before, it was now a piercing dry sensation in the back of his throat. He wouldn’t beg.  


Apparently his state was worse than he had estimated it to be, as he didn’t recall saying it out loud. But he must have, since the doctor’s reply was prompt “Oh, but it’s such a nice thought.”  
Jim swallowed dry. “Why are you doing this?”  


The doctor sighed exasperatedly at that “Oh Jim, you’ve been such an entertaining subject, don’t be boring by asking such common questions.” Jim was grounded by having the doctor remember his name. “Well, tell me and I won’t ask again.” He rasped with a voice hoarse like a grater.  
This earned him an eye roll. “Fine, I like it when your voice sounds husky like this.” The doctor smiled without actually doing so but it didn’t unsettle Jim as much as it probably should.  


“You know that’s not what I meant.” He tried to make his voice sound normal again, but failed as it broke on the last syllable. “I do, but two men can play this game, darling.”  
Now that unsettled him to the right extend, having his own thoughts from long ago voiced by the one he had sworn to fight this way.  


“You look shocked, ah, I see, you tried to break my gameplay.” The doctor’s voice was warm at that but the next words were dripping with ice and menace “Don’t try it kid. Others have, and all they are now is a name and a photo on some policeman’s desk.”  
So Jim wasn’t the first, this was both comforting and troubling him at the same time.  


“How many others? Don’t tell me you’ve lost count, I know you keep notes.” The doctor smiled at Jim’s brightness “How do you know I’m taking notes about all this? For all you know I could have written down ideas for cooking recipes in that book.” He raised an eyebrow as he waited for an answer. “I don’t think you’re a cannibal, plus you’ve been looking at my wounds in order of inflicting them, probably to be able to describe them expertly in your little book of horror.” Jim’s throat punished him for this monologue by throwing him into a coughing fit the doctor just waited through.  


When Jim had stopped writhing, the pain in his shoulder was back and his mouth tasted like copper. The eerie sense of fleshy fingertips was drawn to his attention and he relaxed the clenched fists with horror of his own body. De had to force himself not to try to swallow, as it would only result in the same again. When he looked up from his crooked position, the doctor smiled at him. “I see you’re smart, so I won’t lie to you.” He stood up and went into the direction of the door, as he had reached it he turned around and said “You’re lucky number seven, Jim.”  


When he came back it was with another cup of water that he slowly fed Jim from his stool, careful to not spill a single drop. When Jim had emptied the cup with minor disturbances, he disposed of it on his cart and resumed his sitting position. He waited for a comment on the number of victims and Jim gave him what he asked for silently. It wasn’t exactly quid pro quo, but Leonard could work with that.  
“Well I guess that’s six nameless corpses to you, huh?”  
“I’m working on making that seven.”  


Jim was able to huff out a breath without coughing and replied “No, you know my name. And they knew yours, I bet they wouldn’t have forgotten it if they had lived to be a hundred.”  
The doctor was shaken by a short amused laughter before he answered “One of them was a hundred, Jim, at least she looked like it.” He had sobered up completely “And none of them knew my name.”  


Jim believed the first statement, but he was completely left in the dark as to how honest the second was. Leonard had promised not to lie to him, but he was a serial killer, so how much trust could you put into one of those? Jim decidedly ignored the part of him that wanted to believe Leonard, if that even was his name.  
“So none of them actually ever cried out a distressed _Doctor McCoy_ as you “treated” them?” he made the quotation marks with his hand behind his back, his left fingers barely twitching, even though the doctor surely couldn’t see it, but he could hear the mocking damsel-in-distress voice Jim had used on his name, that was for sure.  
The doctor smiled fondly. “No.”  


“Well, don’t expect it from me, then.”  


XXx  


A lesson that Jim still had to learn was that doctor McCoy didn’t expect anything he wasn’t able to make happen.  
After their conversation had ended the doctor had switched off the light above Jim’s head, leaning in the same position, except that Jim was now able to make out a complete happy trail besides the skin and when he thought of biting this time, it was in an exploring way. At that thought he had snapped his eyes shut, angry with himself and the only words spoken before the doctor left the room was a cheery “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bugs bite!” before he heard the door close.  
Jim knew that when he slept now, he’d lose all sense of time he had regained, which was little to none, but his body betrayed him and fell asleep not soon after the doctor had left.  


xXx  


Jim awoke to the doctor’s changed methods, but to the same determination. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but that was irrelevant as his brain was fogged over with a whole new flood of sensations, one he didn’t mind normally – he usually sought it out. He knew that this was quite a literal mindfuck, but the doctor was able to make Jim’s body disobey him and this was simply a different level. The doctor was highly skilled and intellectual, but his methods spoke to the most primal parts in a human being. Violence and nutrition, what was left?  


The doctor on his knees between Jim’s spread legs, ghosting his fingers around his victim’s genitals.  
One of the few coherent thoughts Jim could focus on was relief at not spotting any kind of sharp instrument in the doctor’s hands. The doctor didn’t even acknowledge that Jim was awake, even though he had surely felt the jerk his body had tried to make backwards, out of his abductor’s reach.  
Jim should have known to expect this, he chastised himself, but as the doctor started to drop almost shy kisses on his shaft, his will to focus was erased after one final thought cursing male anatomy.  


The doctor’s skilled fingers moved to stimulate Jim’s nerves, damaging Jim on a whole new level. When Jim felt the doctor’s hot mouth engulf him, his head hit the pipe and his fingers clenched into fists as he tried to focus on the pain in his hand and shoulder, trying to tell his body not to react to this monster, but it was futile. McCoy worked without haste, highly concentrated on the task at hand and Jim could feel his last barriers of resistance fall, as he felt like a complicated jigsaw puzzle that was slowly being taken apart.  


When Jim screamed, it wasn’t “Doctor McCoy” or “Leonard”, it was the nickname his brain had marked the doctor with, shortly after he had made his first threat. As Jim hit climax the word ringing in the doctors’ ears was “Bones” and the low chuckle held on until Jim was drenched.  
The doctor backed off with a wet pop, sat on his heels as he kneeled and eyed Jim closely as he slowly came down from his high, only then moving to dress him again. He had to free one of his legs, but the muscles in Jim’s thighs were highly weakened, so resistance was pointless anyways.  


After finishing his work, the doctor stood up, made himself comfortable on the stool and waited for Jim to look at him. Which Jim didn’t, so he just started to talk. “You don’t have any bones, down there dear and you’ve successfully prevented me from getting a good look at either of your other specimen, so I don’t see your need of screaming it on top of your lungs while I was doing you a favour.”  
“You only ever do yourself a favour, McCoy” was the answer he received and accepted without surprise or malice.  


xXx  


Jim was treated with another cup of water and he had to actively bite back an honest thank you. This man would kill him in the end and he had to remember that. And yet his body had already switched sides and his brain was on the brink of doing so, but not yet. Now Jim was still able to fight back and he was determined to do so, his faith had wavered before and he would not have known that he had regained any of it, if it wouldn’t have been for this murderer to choose him. He accepted this as a fact without any negative of positive emotions attached to it. This was the status quo.  


And right now, he may not have been at an advantage, but he had figured out three important facts about the doctor that would help him survive this.  
First: He wasn’t as calm and collected as he acted to be.  
Second: He was a psychological anomaly attracted to physical and emotional pain he could inflict on defenseless people.  
Third: The doctor had grown fond of him.  


xXx  


After this drainage he resurfaced from a hazy daze to find the doctor looking at him, again with the warm brown, not the cold black. Jim felt like something had crawled into his mouth and died there, his limbs were heavy and strained and his hurt extremities were a constant nagging that kept thumping in the back of his head. His feet had fallen asleep and his neck hurt from having dozed off upright. Most of this could be cured with a short walk, he raved to stretch his legs out and draw his arms close and maybe get the chance to lie flat on his back to reorganize his spine.  
He also needed a shower.  


The doctor on the other hand looked as fresh as a daisy, still in the same clothes he had worn before, the only sign that anything had already happened being the missing apron and the patch of white around his right thumb. Jim was displeased.  
This feeling quickly turned into confusion when the doctor got up and reached behind Jim, to tie his middle loose. He then continued to free Jim’s legs, knowing Jim wouldn’t try anything before he hadn’t cut his hands loose or backed off again. He had judged Jim right, who patiently waited until the doctor made a move to free Jim’s hands as well. But before he actually got into the danger of a freed hand, he got a grip on his trusty scalpel and held it against Jim’s neck that was craned backwards. If he moved it, this way or another, it would be his end.  


Without his hand wavering once against Jim’s neck he had cut his hands loose and slowly backed out of reach until he was standing above Jim’s lap with a scalpel in his left hand and the cut ropes in his right. He threw the cords demonstratively to the side, took a huge step backwards and withdrew his hand from Jim’s neck.  
Now Jim could do two things. He could either jump after him, try to wrestle him down and to get the fuck out of here, or he could sit a bit more comfortably and wait for an explanation. Jim was a hothead, but he wasn’t stupid. The odds of winning weren’t that bad, but Jim had no idea where he was and how he’d get out of here. For that he needed Leonard.  


So he stretched his legs, rubbed his wrists in his lap, rolled his neck around to hear the joints pop and patiently waited for what the doctor had to say. Latter had not put the scalpel out of his hand, but Jim noticed that the cart was now empty, besides the book and the two used plastic cups. The doctor had taken precautions.  
Jim stretched his arms above his head and enjoyed the sound of his shoulder blades snapping back into space, ignoring the piercing pain in shoulder, arm and hand. The doctor had disabled two different parts on two different sides of his body, and both were equally effective. He reluctantly admired the doctor’s work.  


Jim didn’t stand up though, just kept looking at the doctor, probably the most patient he’s ever been. “Mind telling me what this is all about?” Jim hated to be the one to speak first, but it was a necessary evil. He got rewarded “I saw how well you fought back with words and the little bit of space I had granted you. I won’t say that you’re able to reach your full potential anytime soon, but I’d like to get a look at what you’re capable of, even after I’ve cut your wings, little bird.”  


The doctor wasn’t smiling, but Jim couldn’t tell that as the lamp above his head had been dismantled again and the neon lights were as shit as ever. Still, this wouldn’t be a barfight. This guy was well-built, he knew how to wield whatever he held in his hands and he was not an entire idiot at estimating people. He couldn’t be, good doctors were always able to tell in what condition their opposite was. McCoy wouldn’t have done this, if his brain hadn’t supplied him with an at least 50% chance of him surviving this. If it had estimated an equal big chance of winning it, Jim couldn’t tell.  
He deemed the doctor lunatic enough to not care about such a minor factor.  


“I am not armed, as you are. This is not fair.” He just tried to kill time before whatever plan the doctor had calculated would be set into action.  
“Kid, I dragged your ass down here to cut you open and make you suffer, this isn’t fair play. I will have my fun, you will have your death. Facts set in stone.”  
Jim prayed that stone to be suet.  
Jim stood up.  


xXx  


They circled each other like lions under the dim light, waiting for the other to make the first move.  
Jim counted the seconds between the slightly longer pauses before the lights flickered on again. He had already counted 3 times, the next time he would make a go for it. His left hand might be damaged, but his shoulder allowed him to put more force into the hit. So that would be the one to use. The doctor had disabled his favoured hand with great expertise and did probably already know from which side to expect the swing.  


But he could expect a bluff. Or a double bluff.  


It didn’t matter, when the lights were out again and Jim had reached the spot from which he had intended to throw the first punch, the doctor had simply taken a step to the side. But now the balance was broken, even if it had left McCoy at an advantage, Jim was relieved to finally be able to do what he could do well. He didn’t even take time to be offended or surprised at the fact that a doctor didn’t know how to heal, but also to harm in the most brutal ways. Knowledge always had two ways of being used. Jim liked to think that he used it in a good way.  


That would make the doctor the bad one, the villain, oh what a surprise. But these thoughts have long been thought before Jim was even able to move his hands freely. Now his brain went through plans of not only surviving this, but to make sure to take the doctor alive. Jim didn’t do things by halves.  
And confidently JIm had his opponent pinned to his back in a matter of seconds. His left upper arm pressing down on the doctor’s windpipe, his right foot on the hand that wielded the scalpel. From this position he was unable to control what the doctor did with his right hand, but he realized that the fraction of a second too late. The doctor had bucked his hips upwards, Jim thought it to be a movement to shake him off, but McCoy had reached behind his back and withdrawn a black object.  
Before Jim could reorganize his hands and arms or even think about using his foot, the doctor had a gun to Jim’s head. “Tsk, tsk.”  


He moved his chin in a way that told Jim to get up, and he did. Stepping off the doctor’s hand first as a look had told him to, and slowly backed off one, two, three steps. Then he was called to a halt.  
The doctor sighed and rolled his eyes as he pushed the scalpel behind his belt so he was able to gesture freely with his hand. “Jim, Jim. That was weak. I expected so much more of you.” And he actually managed a hurt look. “Well, I didn’t know all factors then. Now I do.” Jim stepped forward again “Put your gun away and let’s see what I can do.” He put the sweetest smile he was capable of conjuring onto his face.  


“Oh now, I’ve won this round. This means I get some blood I want. After that is settled, I’ll be delighted to put my gun away. It’s a terribly boring weapon, so impersonal, don’t you think?” and without further warning he shot and Jim was leaning over, wheezing heavily and holding his right side. The doctor took the opportunity of Jim not paying attention to throw the gun in a direction unknown to Jim. “It’s just a graze, darling, gutshots always hurt but this didn’t even do its job properly. So please, I’ve done as you’ve asked, can we continue?”  


When Jim looked up his ice blue eyes shot a highly incredulous look towards him, bordering on utter disbelief. His heart was pounding in his head and his side bled furiously, yet he would not give up. He straightened his posture, spit out the bile that had collected in his mouth and moved into the fighter stance he had earlier occupied. Jim fleetingly thought of boxing matches and the girls that always held up the signs announcing the rounds. He stifled a chuckle.  


He didn’t bother with the lights anymore, he just jumped for it, but the doctor caught him at his freshly wounded side and as Jim’s body tried to curl itself around the wound, McCoy tipped him off balance. He then proceeded to move into the same position Jim had sat in only a few minutes earlier. He brought the hand that he had dipped in Jim’s open side upward – the one that wasn’t choking Jim – and drew a stripe across each cheekbone, marveling at how the now nicely lit eyes stood in contrast with the fresh red. Even when the liquid would have turned to copper, they would still do their best to enhance the beauty of Jim’s eyes.  


Leonard pecked him on the nose in an oddly paternal fashion. “Round two, to Bones. My choice it is!” he announced as his right arm went backwards to reach for a swing as his left hand pressed Jim down and the blow that then struck made Jim see more than stars and infrablack.  


“Broken lips do look so nice. Now let me fix your nose, we don’t want it to be any more crooked, do we?” and before Jim’s clouded brain could complain the doctor had gotten a grip on the broken piece of skull and pushed it back into place. Jim screamed in a mix of shock and pain, noticing the uncalled for brutal force with which the doctor had relocated his nose.  


xXx  


Jim was mad that he didn’t know where the doctor had thrown the gun, he hated those weapons too, but right now that wasn’t a valid argument.  
Of course the next round went to the doctor again, who kindly withdrew from his right in order to not hinder his own fun.  
Before he even had stopped talking, Jim had put all the force he was able to into his damaged shoulder and given him a good punch to the face. He didn’t hear a crack but he saw the doctor spit out blood. Before he could regain his posture, Jim had raised a knee into his gut, reached after the scalpel and gotten a grip on it. Before he could withdraw however, the doctor had placed an elbow beneath his chin and forced him to stumble back. Jim didn’t drop the knife though.  


“My blood.” Jim hissed and Leonard grinned at him, blood dripping through his teeth and down his chin, staining his shirt and the floor. “That should be enough blood for you.”  


Jim growled “Cheater.” And received a loud laugh. “The trick is not to play the game, but to play the one that set the rules, darling.” For once it was him who didn’t realize that his opposite was doing exactly that.  


The next “round” started with Jim slowly stepping forwards, forcing the doctor to walk backwards into the direction of the chair with the dismantled armrests. Both knew what Jim was doing, but the doctor gave him the pleasure of gasping in shock as his knee’s hollows hit the rim of the chair and bent as he sat down. Jim found himself shamefully pleased with their switched positions and decided that he could go in for the kill now. So he raised the knife to Leonard’s throat and settled down more or less comfortably. The doctor’s amused grin was blinding.  


Jim knew that the doctor probably cared more for his own pleasure than his survival, so he didn’t worry about the unbound hands and feet. In a mocking way he leaned closer to the doctor’s ear whispering with a touch of insanity “The three smallest bones of the human body are to be found in the ear, shielding the meatus acusticus externus. Oh I’d love to have a look at them.”  
He felt the doctor shudder beneath him, pressing his middle against Jim’s.  


Jim didn’t back off. Instead he raised the knife behind the doctor’s earshell and started to press down until he felt a slight trail of blood running from the handle down his hand. Reaching around the doctor’s neck so his ruined fingers touched the fresh blood he had released from Leonard, then he moved so he was able to meet Leonard’s eyes. “This is the blood I take.” And high on endorphins and adrenaline he pecked the doctor’s lower lip that was still wet and warm with blood.  
“Round four to the bird with clipped wings.”  


When he felt the doctor’s hands again they lay on his side, below the graze, holding him in place. Jim slowly dropped the hand that held the scalpel and Leonard used the space he’d gotten to jolt upright and press a biting kiss against Jim’s Adam’s apple.  
This time it was left to Jim to shudder at the touch and move his hips.  


He heard the scalpel hitting the ground, but that certainly did not break the tension. The doctor’s hands had moved to the front of Jim’s pants, and Kirk’s brain helpfully provided him with flashing images of the last time they had been in that place, strangely leaving out the unpleasant parts.  
Both of them were wide awake and highly focused, loaded with tension. Jim decided to resolve it. He slowly pushed his hands under the doctor’s shirt, tracing his index finger along the hemline of his jeans.  


When Jim looked up again one of the doctor’s eyebrows had shot up and he was close to smirking “Make love not war, huh?” and that was all it took Jim to get a good grip on Leonard’s wrists and pin them behind his head, intending to do just that, against the wall, realizing too late that it would reopen the graze in the most unpleasant way and more or less howling in pain as he dropped the wrists and grabbed his side.  


The doctor’s sigh could have been annoyance or pity.  


He pushed his hands below Jim’s shoulders and heaved him upwards, off him, placing Jim with his back on the ground so the doctor could do proper stitching and he had let him. Leaving and returning through the door in less than a minute with whatever tools he needed to fix the damage. He was a doctor after all.  


xXx  


It took three stitches and no painmeds, Jim was glad that the doctor was either so brilliant at aiming or so shitty that he hadn’t done any more damage. “See, uncle doctor has got you all fixed up again!”  


This strained cheery and insane exterior made Jim wonder how this guy would be before he had snapped. Probably a stern, helpless romantic that was brilliant at patching people up. Jim found this version to be just as endearing. Not in a positive way, he forced his mind to make that clear.  


“You’re still betraying your oaths, you cruel pervert.” Was what Jim gritted through his teeth. “Oh how pleasant of you to notice! You’re a dear.” Jim felt more like a deer in headlights, to be honest. Now the doctor had gotten up and offered Jim a hand to help him reach vertical. Jim took it.  


His right shoulder screamed in agony and Jim’s face must have betrayed this as the doctor’s comment followed promptly “I ain’t gonna fix that up.” Whilst shaking his head.  
“I didn’t expect you to.”  


Jim stood with the chair to his left and the lights to his right, opposite from the doctor and for a short moment he didn’t know what to do.  
Then he sobered up. He had to fight, he couldn’t get lulled into safety by this lunatic’s actions. Yeah, he did patch him up. After he had done much more damage.  
So he tried a swing with his left arm that the doctor easily blocked, straining both graze and shoulder as he tried to blink through the tears that had welled up from the impact. The doctor had both hands at his neck and forced him backwards until they’ve reached the wall. But he didn’t stop pushing and slowly, agonizingly so, Jim’s feet lost their ground beneath them.  


It wasn’t much, but when Jim’s toes were barely able to graze the ground he grew aware of the air shortage in his lungs and started trashing with his arms and legs. He pressed down his chin to get more space between the doctor’s hands and his windpipe, but that only enabled the doctor to push his head back against the wall so hard he couldn’t catch himself when the doctor dropped him.  
“I claim more than blood.”  


The doctor was now balancing on his toe tips on Jim’s level, leaning closer and forcefully pressing his mouth against Jim’s. He slowly slipped unto his knees and started pushing Jim’s shoulders against the wall, forcing Jim to yelp and open his mouth, an opportunity Leonard took.  
Jim choked at the force and raised his hands to push Leonard off himself, but McCoy quickly shifted positions so he straddled Jim’s lap again, intertwining his ankles above Jim’s tailbone and thus effectively clinging to him. Through his discomfort Jim noticed that not once their teeth have clashed, that besides all this force Leonard still wasn’t being brutal about a gesture of affection. It weakened his defense considerably.  


Until the point where he found his jaw unclenching and cautiously pushing back, not in an effort to make Leonard stop, but to urge him on.  
He was rewarded with the relief of pressure on his shoulders and two warm and soft hands cupping his head, pulling him in deeper by the processus mastoideus. Jim felt Leonard shift his head to get better access and himself actively reciprocating the notion.  
Jim was kissing a psychopath.  


xXx  


It was Jim now who put more pressure into the kiss, cautiously biting Leonard’s plush lower lip, never drawing blood though, making tiny keening noises of want that he couldn’t suppress if he tried to.  


McCoy didn’t chuckle, but started to trace Jim’s face tenderly with his hands. If triumph had a sound, it would be this decided silence from the doctor, Jim was convinced.  
It took Jim a bit of time to actually notice what he was doing, and a bit more of it to bring himself to care. So his actions grew more aggressive, the bites now drawing blood and his hands underneath the doctor’s shirt leaving angry red marks. He pushed himself upward, the doctor along with him, forcing latter to have his back pressed against the wall. His brain contemplated the idea of knocking him out and leaving, standing up and demanding to be liberated and many more options using many more details. But the idea he entertained the most at the moment was to get payback as soon as possible.  


Not the physical one however, he decided, but the emotional one of distress. If there was some physical pain involved, he wouldn’t mind though.  
So he removed his hips from under McCoy and grabbed the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, it being bloodstained and ripped in many places, Jim didn’t care about it. He then grinned at the doctor who leaned off the wall, so Jim could do the same to his shirt, barely stained from the bloody spit it had caught from Jim earlier.  
Jim found McCoy body to be positively scarless, whereas the doctor found many lines he couldn’t only see, but also feel, as their mouths kept being locked.  


Jim knew that the doctor probably took pleasure in knowing that he had supposedly broken Jim and used this to his advantage. He completely overlooked the thought of this might being true and himself acting just as the doctor planned, not only physically but also mentally.  


It was McCoy who pushed his hands down Jim’s pants first and Jim bucked into the sensation, breath hitching more than slightly. Their heating bodies supplied them with all necessary warms as they began to discard of the remaining clothes, meaning pants were pushed below the knees and left at that.  
It were Leonard’s hands as well that finished the work between their bodies, engulfing both and settling a pace that told of more need than when he had had Jim at his demand.  


Somewhere along the way, Jim’s head had dropped against the other’s broad shoulder, heaving breaths down Leonard’s torso and contemplating the idea of leaving a few more halfmoons here and there, although not consciously. What he did do was release a series of more or less choked out moans as his climax got closer, digging his fingernails into Leonard’s hips and rocking his hips in pace. At this moment he didn’t care for his payback.  


The doctor was holding back more, made fewer noises and moved more controlled, but when his end dawned he had to stifle a loud noise by biting into Jim’s shoulder, not the pierced one, but it hurt terribly, nonetheless. Jim followed suit, choking out the nickname again and when they both opened their eyes again their shared breath was almost forming clouds. The doctor wiped his hand on his discarded Henley’s and smoothed back Jim’s hair as his forehead was resting against his shoulder, soothing him as best as he could.  


When Jim’s gaze refocused he noticed that he had left a rather violent hickey on the doctor’s neck, which was nothing compared to the other blemishes, but huge in matters of the context.  


As their bodies cooled down, they felt the need to re-dress but the doctor refused to wear his stained shirt, so Jim left his shirt on the ground as well.  
He was tired and he had to think and everything was growing above his head. He got abducted and tortured and then manipulated into sleeping with the lunatic and his bones were heavy and he felt an odd level of content for which he couldn’t bring up enough power to abhor it appropriately, so he was slightly ashamed instead.  


They settled side by side on the wall to their left, in line with the chair and Jim fell asleep against the doctor before latter dozed off as well.  


xXx  


He awoke with his head in Leonard’s lap and his body curled protectively close. He felt the doctor’s hand pat his hair and as he blinked the sleep away and shot a glance upwards he was greeted with the warm smile and eyes he had deemed the doctor capable of possessing the second he had first seen them. So he smiled a genuinely fond smile and drifted back to sleep.  


xXx  


A few weeks later the headlines read:  
“The Doctor’s killing spree has made way for a new horrible series of murders”  
“Doctor now in company”  
“Who was lucky number 7?”  


But Jim’s personal favourite was “Bonnie&Clyde revived – more blood, more guts, less glory”.  
As they walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, Jim called out “Bones, let me buy the paper!” and received a warm kiss in the otherwise fresh October air, along with a “Alright sunshine, but let’s hurry, my bird has to fly.”

**Author's Note:**

> My only references for this were various movies, several articles, one dissertation on stockholm syndrome and an anatomy book, so it's a highly romanticised version of the cruel truth!


End file.
